


Carved In Stone

by boxparade



Series: All Our Yesterdays: The Codas [2]
Category: Panic At The Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, Grief/Mourning, Kid Fic, M/M, Marine Corps, Marriage, Military, PTSD, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-17
Updated: 2012-02-17
Packaged: 2017-10-31 07:53:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/341735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boxparade/pseuds/boxparade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spencer’s pretty good-natured about being left in the dark, right up until Brendon turns into the parking lot for the Southern Nevada Veterans Memorial Cemetery.</p><p>Set about a month after the end of <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/335810">All Our Yesterdays</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carved In Stone

**Author's Note:**

> You should probably read [All Our Yesterdays](http://archiveofourown.org/works/335810) before reading this. Otherwise you probably won't get it, and it also kind of spoils everything. ^^;

There are a lot of things they just don’t get around to until Spencer’s been home for at least a month. It turns out, if the military thinks you’re dead and then it turns up you’re not, but rather safely home and retired, they get rather fussy about the whole thing and demand a ton of paperwork. Half of which is nearly impossible to get, what with the doctor that treated Spencer halfway around the world, not actually in possession of a medical degree, and—from what Spencer can remember—not capable of speaking English, or basically any other easily translated language. But they expect proper paperwork anyway.

Brendon was a little freaked when Spencer got around to telling him exactly how it’d all happened, but what freaked him out more than the explosions and the gunfire and the crazy people torturing his husband was the so-called “medical treatment” he’d received directly after escaping. Apparently, Spencer didn’t wind up with the field medics right away, but instead he wound up with some rogue Afghan that didn’t so much like the terrorists trying to run his country. He didn’t speak a word of English, and he performed major surgery in the back room of his dirt-floored house without gloves, or soap, or anything more than a damn switchblade and some sewing thread.

But he saved Spencer’s life, and he got Spencer to the people that could really help him, and Brendon thinks if that’s good enough for him, it should be good enough for the military.

Besides all the paperwork, though, they had to actually inform everyone that no, Spencer was _not_ dead. And they had Jake and Emily to deal with, and they had to find a nice American doctor to help figure out what could be done about Spencer’s hip, if anything, because he had good days and he had bad days. Brendon loved him no matter what, but he’d really rather prefer if his stupid, stoic husband wouldn’t limp around in pain all the time when there was another option available.

They also had to visit Ginger and Joseph a hell of a lot more often, because Ginger was trying to keep Spencer locked up, safe from the world, now that she had him back. Brendon fully agreed with this plan, for the most part, but it made Spencer a little grumpy, and Brendon liked seeing Spencer happy, so they wound up back at home anyway, promising Ginger they’d come back soon.

With all of that, Spencer and Brendon never really had time for all the little things. At least, they didn’t have time for the little things that were just for them, because they gave all their free time to the kids, so the kids could have their little things in multitude—namely, bedtime stories and Princess-rescue and an excessive amount of chocolate chip pancakes. But it made them happy, so it didn’t matter if Brendon and Spencer never got a moment alone ever again, and it seemed to be helping Spencer a bit.

Brendon had made him go see a psychologist at the VA, since it was free anyway, and because no matter how great Spencer claimed to be, or seemed to be, he still had a lot of shit happen to him, and Brendon wishes he could make it all go away. He can’t, so instead he makes sure Spencer knows he has plenty of people he can talk to, even if he’s more likely to tell everything to the dog than he is to some psychologist.

But the way he smiles with the kids—Brendon’s pretty sure the VA psychologist shouldn’t be paid so damn much, if a seven-year-old and a four-year-old can do more good in a couple of minutes than he can in two solid hours a week.

Still, eventually things start to settle down, and Jake and Emily aren’t so clingy anymore, asking for play dates with their friends from school, or running off on their own to play some random game in the backyard, “no grown-ups allowed”. And so no one complains when Brendon drops them off at Grandma and Grandpa’s for a weekend, except maybe Ginger, who’s grumbling because Spencer didn’t drive over with Brendon. Probably because he never would’ve gotten away, if he had.

The moment Brendon walks in the door, kid-free, Spencer presses him against the wall with nothing but his lips, and while that’s very romantic and all—waiting hell knows how long in the foyer with a bad hip because there’s no way he got to the door that fast after Brendon’s car pulled into the driveway—he has other plans. This, they can do later. Right now, he’s determined to get something out of the way, because it’s maybe been bothering him a bit.

He pushes Spencer away, gently, smiling, and says “Nope. Not right now. We’ve got things to do, Casanova.”

Spencer cocks an eyebrow at that, but Brendon slips away from him and says “to the car, come on.”

Spencer follows, maybe out of intrigue or maybe just because he’s not stupid enough to disobey Brendon right now, and he doesn’t even say anything when Brendon gets all worried and flutters about him while he gets down the stairs. Today is one of those in-between days, when Spencer wakes up feeling better than usual, and then does increasingly stupid shit that just makes his hip act up. He’s starting some new sort of physical therapy next week though, so Brendon’s hopeful.

Brendon doesn’t tell them where they’re going, or what they’re doing. He just hums happily along to the radio and doesn’t even hesitate when Spencer changes the station, a silent challenge to this being-left-in-the-dark thing. Spencer’s pretty good-natured about it, though, right up until Brendon turns into the parking lot for the Southern Nevada Veterans Memorial Cemetery.

“What are you doing?”

“Shh,” Brendon says shortly, because he doesn’t want to have this fight. Not until they leave, at least, having accomplished what they came here to do.

“No. I’m not doing this. I told you, I don’t need to–”

“Well, maybe I _do_.”

Spencer snaps his mouth shut then, and doesn’t say a word when Brendon parks the car and just sets his jaw, staring out the windshield at nothing, with his hands on the wheel. He forces himself to take a deep breath, and then gets out of the car. He doesn’t wait to see if Spencer follows, just keeps walking and walking until he hits the headstones, and he navigates a careful path through them. It sends cold shivers up his spine, to know that he still remembers the exact location, even though he’s only been here once.

When he stops, it’s still a few yards away, and he can’t see anything yet. He doesn’t hear Spencer behind him, even though he should, now that he has the cane—it makes a clicking sound. But there’s a warm, broad hand curling around his shoulder, and he makes himself breathe in before walking the rest of the way, three more down, two rows up.

He stops dead in front of the headstone, simple, looking exactly like so many others, but its power is in the engraving, and it knocks the breath out of Brendon all over again.

 

SPENCER JAMES SMITH

2LT US MARINE CORPS

AFGHANISTAN

SEP 2 1987 – NOV 23 2016

PURPLE HEART

SEMPER FIDELIS

 

He thought coming here and seeing this would help him get past this, move on, and maybe it will, but he didn’t expect it to hurt so goddamn much. He feels like he’s reliving the funeral all over again, watching Jake try to keep from crying when the officer handed him that flag. It still claws at his insides, threatening to tear him apart, like maybe the remnants of his fear will come back around.

“Jesus, this is freaky,” Spencer rumbles beside him, and it’s just—it’s the way he says it, all breathy and amused, that makes Brendon crack up without restraint, turning into Spencer and laughing against his chest as his fingers twist in the fabric of his jacket.

He feels light, like he could float up into the great expanse of blue if Spencer weren’t holding on to him, strong arms curling around his back as he shakes apart with laughter, and relief. And there it is—the one thing he’s been feeling, that he could never quite put a name to. It was strong, and it was ever-present, but until now he hadn’t realized what it was, just that it was different from the happiness, and the shock, and the residual fear, and the worry, and everything else.

It’s relief. Gut-wrenching, bone-deep relief, buzzing through his body, because there’s a fucking headstone with Spencer’s name on it, but he’s not dead. Brendon lived through his worst nightmare—maybe second worst, after anything happening to the kids—and it all turned out okay. Spencer is here, warm and safe, and Brendon still wonders, sometimes, if maybe he went off the deep end when he found out Spencer was likely dead. Like maybe he’s in some loony bin somewhere, in a padded room and a straight jacket, hallucinating all of this.

But everything keeps reminding him that this is real, and that he got Spencer back by some sort of miracle, and it’s okay now.

“Christ, Bren,” Spencer breathes, pulling him closer. His voice gives him away, like he’s finally understanding just what kind of hell Brendon lived through, and why he’s so royally fucked in the head right now. He’s working on it, on getting back to normal, but a part of him is probably still going to have a full-scale panic attack when he wakes up and Spencer’s not in bed next to him. _That_ had been a lovely little experience, when it turned out Spencer was just up early, making scrambled eggs and toast. They’d gone cold before Brendon and Spencer could eat them, because Spencer had been busy trying to get Brendon to take deep breaths and not call 911 because he thought he was having a heart attack.

Brendon holds on tight, trying not to look at the headstone, because it makes him cold all over and brings back memories from the worst day in his life.

He holds on until he feels like he’s okay again, and even when he pulls away, Spencer knows enough to keep their hands twined, even though it’s got to be annoying, with the cane taking up his other hand. Spencer doesn’t say a word though, and he follows along when Brendon says “Let’s go” and starts leading them back to the car.

He waits until the cemetery is at least a mile behind them before he says “Please tell me that’s not going to stay there.”

Brendon laughs, open and bright. “No,” he says, amused. “They’re digging it all up sometime next week, which is why I wanted to go see it before they did.”

Spencer pauses, and Brendon can tell he’s staring without taking his eyes off the road. He’s not sure why Spencer’s staring, though. “Why?” he asks.

Brendon shrugs, his grin turning wry. “Closure.”

Brendon’s pretty sure Spencer blinks, completely blank. “But I’m not—”

“Yes, thank you,” Brendon cuts him off, snippily. “I can see that.” He ignores the little flip his stomach does when he realizes that he’s really not okay with the word “dead” coming within ten million miles of Spencer. He maybe has a few more issues to work through.

Spencer seems properly ashamed, and Brendon doesn’t want to start a fight that they’ve already hashed out before. “I just need that part of my life to be over, now. So I can move on, and maybe, you know, not have panic attacks if I wake up and you’re more than a few feet away.” He almost wants to laugh at himself for his own idiocy, but Spencer keeps on telling him it wasn’t stupid, and he’s pretty sure Spencer’s psychologist would agree.

Spencer nods, saying he gets it, and goes back to staring out the window at the ever-changing horizon. It’s at least five miles before Spencer says “I’m sorry” out of nowhere, without any sort of warning.

“What?” Brendon snipes, because he’s confused. “What in the hell are you sorry about?”

Spencer shrugs noncommittally. “For doing this to you. To the kids.”

Brendon nearly chokes on air, and ends up coughing before he can spit out “Oh my god, you’re delusional.”

“I—”

“It’s not your fault!” Brendon argues firmly, trying to keep himself from pulling over just so he can try to glare some sense into Spencer right now. “None of this was your fault, okay? You _not dying_ was really the only thing I held you accountable for, and that worked out okay, so…”

“But if I hadn’t joined the service—” Spencer tries, and as much as Brendon wants to blame absolutely everything that happened on the military, he just can’t. Because what they do is the most honorable thing Brendon can imagine, and it’s extremely brave, and Brendon’s more than grateful, so even if they make a few mistakes along the way, he doesn’t feel anything but guilty speaking ill of the institution. Especially not when there are crazies out there, threatening the soldiers like it’s their fault a bunch of terrorists crashed planes into buildings because they didn’t like America.

Brendon sighs. “Look,” he starts, keeping himself calm because he had almost two years to figure some shit out while Spencer was deployed—namely, how to keep from fighting so damn much with his idiot husband. “I have a love-hate relationship with the military, and right now it’s kind of leaning towards the hate part, I’ll admit. But I married you for a reason, and I’ll be damned if I ever ask you to stop being a Marine.”

Spencer seems sort of stunned into silence by that, and Brendon can’t help it—he smirks. It’s rare that he gets to Spencer like this, and he likes to savor the moments he does, because they’re often few and far in between. “So,” he adds, “how about a little less shoulda-woulda-coulda and a little more semper fi?”

Spencer laughs, then, and Brendon bites down on his lower lip and grins, because this is them. He can feel it, slowly creeping back in, the kind of familiarity they knew so well before Spencer shipped out, the easiness that settled between them, warm and true. He’s glad he’s got it back, finally, after so many months of uncertainty, followed by yet another month of unmitigated shock and awe.

“Well, look at you,” Spencer teases, punching Brendon lightly in the shoulder. Except it’s really not as light as he must think it is, because he’s like the Hulk now, and they’re definitely going to need to have a talk about rough-housing with the kids, though he should probably be a bit more concerned about rough-housing elsewhere, because Spencer would never hurt the kids, but he’d probably get turned on by marking Brendon up with fingerprint bruises. And really, that’s not sounding like such a bad thing to Brendon after all, so maybe not-so-much on the talk.

“Oh, don’t act all surprised,” Brendon says, still smiling. “I’m a military wife through-and-through, and you know it.”

“So we’ve finally agreed that you’re the wife in this relationship.”

“Shut your mouth right now, or I really will post those pictures of you on the internet, the ones of you in that sparkly, pink unicorn T-shirt and the girl jeans—”

“You wouldn’t,” Spencer says darkly, and Brendon just smirks.

“Oh, babe, would I. I’d tag every single one of your military buddies, don’t doubt me.” He turns his head to waggle his eyebrows ridiculously at Spencer, which gets a snort.

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Brendon warns.

“Oh yeah? And if I do?”

Brendon licks his lips unconsciously. “I have a pair of handcuffs in the night stand, hun. They’re police-grade. You wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“Right, because I don’t know how to get myself out of a pair of handcuffs,” Spencer scoffs, and he leans back against the seat, cocky and grinning.

“I’m not saying you can’t, I’m just saying, I wonder how well you’d do while otherwise distracted.” He lets his voice drop into a lower register, and Spencer’s eyes get dark, and sure enough, the second they’re in the house (possible a bit sooner, considering how difficult it was to fit the key in the lock with Spencer pressed along his back and breathing against his neck) Spencer is stripping all the way to the bedroom.

He laughs hysterically when Brendon actually pulls out the handcuffs, because yes, they’re real, and then they both get so distracted pressing their smiles into skin and sliding careful fingers over every inch of each other that they kind of forget the whole premise of the handcuffs to begin with. Brendon’s not complaining, though; he’s got Spencer, and that’s enough. It’s more than enough.


End file.
